Chapter 9 – Rotation of Rescue

Hannelore Handeltstark had made many calls in her life, but rarely with such urgency. Her eyes flew across the app, her fingers tapping in precise, short movements. "Hannes?" – her voice vibrated with haste – "get dressed, we have to go to Offenbach."

At the other end of the line, only a soft hiss could be heard – the sound of a sports bottle just being opened by a thirsty champion. "Offenbach?" asked Hannes, feeling a slight shiver spread between his shoulder blades. "Yes. Ingo Ingenieur needs us. Right now."

The plan was simple: S-Bahn to Offenbach Marktplatz, then on foot to the laboratory. The plan failed after exactly two stops – the annual tunnel closure. Instead of rolling rails, there were now rumbling rail-replacement buses, crammed with commuters, prams and a single woman conducting an uninterrupted conference call on speakerphone. With only thirty minutes' delay, they finally stumbled up to the unassuming building of the German Weather Service.

Hannes was exhausted. His morning training had drained the strength from his arms, and the stuffy bus ride had finished the job. He was on the verge of retreating – until he saw something in the laboratory. There, amid cables, blinking consoles and Ingo Ingenieur's dark under-eye circles, stood a water dispenser. Not just any water dispenser. Sparkling water. With blueberry flavour. Ice-cold.

The burning in his throat was back in an instant. He reached for the cup, took a long, sparkling sip – and knew: he could do it.

Ingo Ingenieur waved them over to the machine. The word "complicated" was an understatement. Before them stood a construct of cables, switches, blinking displays – and two massive levers standing so far apart that they could only be operated simultaneously with both arms. "The movement has to run synchronously, in exactly the same rhythm – otherwise the process aborts," Ingo explained.

For many, that would have been the end. For Hannes, it was just Tuesday. He took his stance, breathed in deeply and braced his shoulders. Then he set both arms in motion: slowly, controlled, in perfect, mirror-image rotation. The precision was flawless – every micro-movement synchronous, as if he had trained his whole life for exactly this.

A deep, metallic hum ran through the room. Displays sprang to life. Somewhere in space, invisible to them, a light flickered on at the dead satellite.

Hannelore looked at Ingo. "It's working." Ingo nodded, but his gaze remained serious. "Yes. But we only get this one attempt."